


Bell Let's Talk Day 2021

by decoylullaby



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bipolar Disorder, Boarding School, Depression, Negative Self Talk, Normalize Seeking Help, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, feelings of worthlessness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:27:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29042349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decoylullaby/pseuds/decoylullaby
Summary: Jim was depressed.Or so he'd been told for most of his life. And what reason did he have not to believe them?--------A journey through just one person's experience with mental illness.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	Bell Let's Talk Day 2021

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings! Today is Bell Let's Talk Day in Canada, which is a day about destigmatizing talking about mental illness, so I wrote a story based on my experience of going from a diagnosis of depression to Bipolar Disorder II. I hope this story will educate people on the signs of bipolar, because I didn't know what to look for while I was on my journey until I'd been suffereing for a long time.
> 
> WARNING: This story contains elements of negative self talk, self-harm and suicide attempts. If this material is triggering to you and will have negative impacts on your mental health, I recommend turning back now.
> 
> You are loved, and you are worthy of love.

Jim was depressed.

Or so he'd been told for most of his life. And what reason did he have not to believe them? His father had died on his way to the hospital on the day of his birth, his stepfather was abusive, his mother was distant for most of his life, and his brother moved out at age sixteen, when Jim was just 6. He struggled in school as a child, so he was given a stimulant and a useless IEP and told to just pull it together. When his mother and Frank divorced when he was eight, he was sent to a boarding school because no one had time to look after him. His feelings of abandonment made him seek attention elsewhere, pulling stunts for his peers and aggravating authority figures.

\----

Jim was in ninth year when he began to feel low. He had lots of people he hung out with, but lately he felt like he had to force himself to spend time with them and be his positive and outgoing self. He started spending less time with his friends, often staying in his room to study or just lie in his bed. He couldn't explain it at the time, but he felt physically and emotionally drained most days. It lasted for a while, maybe a month or two, but then Jim started to feel like his normal self again. Heck, maybe even better. He was social, always trying new things to impress his friends and get a laugh or a smile out of them. Maybe it was just the contrast from the low feelings from before, but for a few weeks, he felt like he was on top of the world and nothing could stop him.

That lasted all of a month. Then the low was back.

This time, he felt like his world was even darker. He started thinking about how he'd been abandoned, sent away because nobody wanted him. He started to doubt that his friends cared about him at all. It hurt like a physical pain, and all he wanted was to make it go away, whatever that took.

When his roommate found the bloody tissues in the garbage, Jim told him it was a nosebleed and went to bed.

This low lasted longer than the first. He started to wonder if something was really wrong with him, so he went to one of the teachers that had always been the kindest to him, Mr. Reid. He'd stayed late after class, watching Mr. Reid erase the whiteboard while he hovered by the door with his books, one foot in, one out. Mr. Reid turned around and noticed Jim was still there.

"Everything alright, Jim?" he asked. Jim looked at the floor, holding his books a little tighter.

"Yeah," Jim muttered, sighed, then corrected, "No."

Mr. Reid gestured at Jim's usual desk for Jim to sit. Mr. Reid closed the door, then turned the chair from the desk in front of Jim's around so they were face to face. Jim stared at the desk.

"What's up, Jim?" Mr. Reid asked.

Jim fidgeted in his seat. "I...I don't know. I haven't been feeling like myself."

Mr. Reid nodded. "I've noticed that you're a lot quieter in class, and I don't see you outside with the rest of your friends much."

"I...I feel like they're not really my friends," Jim said coldly. "I feel like they're just friends with me because they feel bad for me." Jim fell silent for a minute, and Mr. Reid gave him space to think. "Everyone abandoned me. Nobody really wants me around."

"I want you around, Jim," Mr. Reid said kindly. "And your friends do want you around. When did you start feeling this way?"

"I don't know," Jim said. "Maybe like, a month?"

Mr. Reid nodded again. "That's a long time to feel like that, that must be hard."

Jim nodded, too. His eyes stung with tears and when he spoke, his throat felt tight. "It's hard," Jim agreed. "It hurts, a lot, like I'm being stabbed in the chest." He rubbed his arm through his long-sleeved Henley. "I just wanted...want it to stop hurting."

Mr. Reid's eyes flicked to the motion. His lips flattened into a straight line, and he leaned forward on the desk, looking at Jim and trying to get his eye contact. Jim resisted for a while, but the feeling of eyes on him eventually drew his gaze. Mr. Reid's expression was serious, but there was still the kindness that had always been there, that allowed Jim to trust him. Jim's lip was trembling. He knew what was coming.

"Jim, did you hurt yourself?"

A wrecked sob burst from Jim's chest; one he'd been holding back for a long time. "I'm sorry!" he exclaimed. "I'm sorry, I just wanted it to stop! It hurts so much!" Jim brought his hands up to cover his face, unable to hold back his tears. "I'm sorry, Mr. Reid, I'm really sorry."

Mr. Reid gently put a hand on Jim's arm. "It's okay, Jim, I'm not mad, I promise," he said, as if he was trying to calm a distressed animal. "Have you been taking care of them? Do you think you need any stitches?"

"No," Jim said, wiping his eyes and sniffling. "No, they're...not that deep. I kept them clean."

"Good," Mr. Reid said. He was smiling. How was he smiling? "I think it would be a good idea for you to talk to someone, though. I'd feel a lot better if you talked to the school psychologist. Would you do that for me?"

Jim was reluctant. He didn't like doctors, they always seemed to brush him off, give him a pill and send him away. But if Mr. Reid thought it was a good idea, if he wanted Jim to go, maybe...

"Okay," Jim agreed. "Will you...can you walk with me?"

Mr. Reid's face was so warm and kind and he nodded. "Of course. Come on, let's get your things."

Jim picked up his books and held them to his chest again. He followed Mr. Reid out of the classroom and through the halls to the guidance office, where Mr. Reid spoke with the secretary while Jim stood close to the doorway. The secretary told Jim to take a seat and Mr. Reid said he had to go, but he wanted to talk to Jim after class the next day and hear how the appointment went. Jim nodded and sat at a chair at the little round table covered in pamphlets with all kinds of titles, ranging from safe sex to information about universities. Jim scanned each one until his eyes landed on one titled "Depression in Youth". Checking to see if the secretary was watching, he picked up the pamphlet and skimmed through it. He was only on the second leaf when a woman with dark hair pulled up in a ponytail came out of one of the offices. She called his name and he followed her into the office.

The psychologist was nice. She asked a lot of the same questions Mr. Reid did. She told him he had depression, and that it was common and treatable. She made him an appointment with the school's doctor so he could learn about antidepressants and decide if he wanted to try taking them. She gave him some more booklets and pamphlets to read and said they would have another appointment to talk about healthy coping strategies. Jim was grateful for her help and he thanked her at the end of the appointment. She offered to excuse him from classes for the rest of the day, and since he had already missed one and there was only one left, he took her up on the offer. While she spoke to the secretary, he headed back to his room, his new reading material tucked in between his books.

He read through them, making sure to stow them where his roommate wouldn't find them by accident. He learned a lot from them, and he felt a little more at ease knowing that other people felt the same way as him and that there was probably something just wrong with his brain chemistry.

When his doctor appointment rolled around, the doctor explained how the antidepressants worked and with Jim's consent he prescribed a generally well-tolerated one.

I wish I could say that was the end of it.

The pills worked for a while, and Jim went back to feeling excellent: social, excited, he was even doing better in classes, asking questions and studying with all the newfound energy he had. But by the time tenth year began, he was starting to feel them wearing off. Soon he felt he was in the same place as before. He was back to see the psychologist and the doctor, and was told that it was normal for the first drug to be ineffective. So, he was put on another.

And so, the cycle continued.

\-----

By the time Jim turned twenty, he'd been on six different antidepressants and a couple of "boosting" drugs to try and get him out of his slumps. Each time he felt better for several months, and then it went downhill again. After the last doctor's visit, he decided that he was done with the drugs. They weren't working, and he would just have to learn to cope on his own. He moved to San Francisco, started a fresh life. The change felt great for a good while. He got a job tending a bar near his apartment, and things were good. He even thought about getting a cat.

This time, he didn't notice the slump coming on until it was well underway, and this time, he was in way over his head.

Alone, Jim had no one to talk to. He tried making an appointment with a therapist again, but everyone he tried didn't have an opening for at least a month. He didn't have a doctor and really, he didn't have enough income to afford either. He found it hard to get out of bed in the morning, and he had a hard time sleeping at night. He started showing up groggy to work, messing up orders, and then not showing up at all. It wasn't long before they told him not to bother coming in anymore.

Jim started taking drastic measures to take the sadness and hurt away. He could hear Mr. Reid's voice in his head, telling him that the things his mind was telling him weren't true, but he just couldn't believe it, just couldn't stop himself. When the hurting didn't go away, and he was about to be evicted since he had no way to pay his rent, he came to a decision. He knew he couldn't live like this anymore.

He wrote a note to his landlord, apologizing for slipping on his rent, and left a stack of cash, every dollar he had left to his name. He pulled out a piece of paper to write a note to...who? His mother? His brother? He didn't even know where to send it. He had no one left who would know or care if he was still alive. He slipped on his shoes and a rain jacket and walked out the door, not bothering to lock it.

It was almost like a movie, Jim thought. A really depressing movie. He stood on the Golden Gate Bridge, rain pouring down around him, and stared over the railing into the blackness below. He had to do this. He had completely lost his will to live at this point. He needed the pain to end, and hope there was something better on the other side. He steeled himself. This was it. He grabbed the railing firmly and began to hoist himself up.

"Hey, kid!" someone shouted. 

Startled, but still resolved, Jim tried to scramble up faster, but the railing was slippery and he couldn't get his footing. He heard a muttered curse and suddenly there were hands on his hips, pulling him down. He fought against the hands, shouting protests. The hands successfully pulled him away from the railing and strong arms wrapped around him, trying to stop his thrashing.

"Let go! Let go!" Jim shouted. Tears streamed down his face, concealed by the persistent downpour. "Let me go! I can't...I can't be here anymore!" Jim tried to throw the arms off, but they were strong and Jim was tired and weak from not eating and eventually he just collapsed. The owner of the arms broke his fall a bit, lowering them both down to the sidewalk. After a few seconds, the strong-armed person let Jim go and came around to face him. Jim kept his tearful eyes on the sidewalk.

"You okay, kid?" the person said slightly breathlessly. His voice sounded gruff, but it was warm like honey in Jim's ears. When Jim didn't look up, the person gently took Jim's chin in his hand and Jim allowed his head to be moved until they made eye contact at last.

The person, a man, had dark hair and stubble from at least a couple of days without shaving. He also had beautiful blue eyes that were filled with concern and creases in his forehead. His mouth was turned down at the corners. Behind him, a black umbrella was lying open on the ground, stuck between the two sides of the railing. The man repeated his question and Jim nodded weakly.

"What gave you the fool idea to try and jump off the damn Golden Gate?" he asked. 

Jim started to give an answer, but he wasn't sure what to say, and when he opened his mouth a choked noise came out and suddenly, he was sobbing, here, on the Golden Gate Bridge, in front of a stranger. In the end, he managed to choke out, "It just hurt so bad!"

The man gave Jim space to break down, until Jim started shaking beneath the man's hold on his arms. Jim sniffled. "Why am I shaking?"

"You're in shock," the man said. "Come on, my place isn't far from here. Let's go."

The man stood up and pulled Jim with him. Once they were on their feet, the man asked, "What's your name, kid?"

"Jim," Jim whimpered, hugging himself tightly. "Jim Kirk."

"Pleasure to meet ya'. I'm McCoy. Leonard McCoy. Now let's get out of here. I'm chilled to my bones."

Leonard grabbed the umbrella and held it over the two of them. Jim let Leonard guide him, a hand on the small of his back. True to his word, his building was only five minutes from the bridge. Leonard let them into the (very nice) building and brought Jim to the twenty-third floor via the spacious elevator. They didn't share a single word the entire time. Jim continued to shake, and he was worried he was going to do serious damage to his internal organs.

"Am I gonna shake to death?" he asked nervously. Leonard patted his shoulder.

"You'll be fine," he said. Leonard unlocked the apartment door and went inside, Jim following behind him. "Let's get you some warm dry clothes and a blanket. I'll make some tea."

Leonard slipped off his shoes and Jim followed suite, hanging his rain jacket on the hook next to Leonard's. The apartment was beautiful and spacious and modern, with huge windows looking out over the gloomy cityscape. Jim stood awkwardly near the door while Leonard headed down the hall and disappeared through a doorway. He emerged soon after and told Jim he'd set out some clothes on the bed with a towel. Jim went down the hall and stripped out of his soaking wet clothes. He quickly dried off with the towel, rubbing it through his hair, and then went through the clothes on the bed and started dressing. The sweatpants were loose on his thin frame, but he tied the drawstring tightly and they stayed up. Then there was the wool shirt and hoodie and socks. Bundled, he came back through the hall where Leonard had turned on the fireplace and was now making tea in the kitchen. He looked up when Jim entered.

"Feel better?" Leonard asked. Jim nodded. "Why don't you grab a seat by the fire and I'll bring the tea over in a minute."

Jim took a seat on the white leather couch, which was more comfortable than he was expected. He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs. He was still trembling a bit, but it was definitely getting better. Soon, Leonard brought over the tea. He also had a bag which he sat down on the floor before kneeling in front Jim. He dug through the bag and pulled out a stethoscope and a flashlight.

"What, are you a doctor or something?" Jim asked, suddenly nervous.

"Yeah, a surgeon, actually. Orthopedics."

"Ah, bones," Jim said. Leonard shone the flashlight in Jim's eyes, doing a quick assessment, then he donned the stethoscope.

"Okay, lift your shirt."

Jim pulled his knees closer to himself. "Can I not?" he muttered. Leonard rolled his eyes. Bedside manner: lacking, Jim noted.

"I can't assess you through the sweater, now please, Jim."

Jim chewed his lip for a while before he lowered his knees to the sides and started to pull up the bottom of the sweater, exposing a collection of scars in various states of healing. If Leonard was surprised, Jim couldn't tell. The doctor just placed the stethoscope on Jim's chest and listened to his heartbeat for a moment, before getting Jim to turn to the side and take a deep breath, stethoscope on his back.

"Well, you seem okay, if a little malnourished," Leonard said, placing everything back in the bag. He stood up and put the bag away before coming back, grabbing his tea off the coffee table and sitting in a nearby armchair. "So...care to tell me why I found you the way I found you?"

Jim shifted, blowing on his tea. Maybe he wasn't a psychologist, but he was a doctor, Jim could talk to him, right? So, he started his story from the beginning, telling Leonard about the depression, all the medications, and then going off the medication and moving to San Francisco, and then losing his job, and almost losing his apartment, and all the self-harm -- he even showed Leonard some of the other scars, which he said were healing well -- and then the decision to end his life. Leonard listened quietly, nodding when Jim looked up at him. When Jim was done, Leonard leaned back in the chair and sipped his tea.

"Well, I knew that I should be on that bridge today, guess I know why now," he said calmly. Jim stared at the cup in his lap. "Now, I'm no expert, but I do have some training in mental health and I've seen and heard about stories like yours before." He leaned forward in his seat. "Have you considered that you might have bipolar disorder?"

Jim looked up, surprised and offended. "What? No, I'm not crazy!"

Leonard looked sternly at Jim. "Having bipolar doesn't make you anymore crazy than having depression, Jim, just means that you have two problematic mood states instead a' one. Sounds to me like you've got a history of hypomania, which isn't as extreme as mania but still a sign of bipolar. And the antidepressants, you say they work for a while and then stop?" Jim nodded and Leonard huffed. "That happens a lot with people treated for depression when they actually have bipolar. The drug sends you into a hypomanic or manic state, and then you start to come down from the high after a while."

"But...if I do have bipolar, what can I do?" Jim asked nervously.

"Well, I have a friend you can talk to who can probably tell you better if what I'm saying is true or not, but once you know you can get help targeted at what's troubling you. Drugs that will work, therapy that is designed for people with bipolar."

"I...I don't have any money," Jim said. "I left it all with my landlord."

"Don't worry, my friend does pro-bono work, and everything else we can get you set up with an organization to help people like you until you can find a job and start paying for things yourself," Leonard reassured.

"Where will I live?" Jim asked.

"Well, you could always find a group home," Leonard suggested, "but for tonight, you can stay in my guest room if you want."

Jim's eyes widened. "I...I couldn't intrude..."

"Not intruding, Jim," Leonard said. "Can't just send you out on the streets after the day you've had."

Jim finally acquiesced and, once they finished their tea, Leonard made a phone call to his doctor friend who agreed to see Jim before his first appointment the next day. That night, Jim lay in the large bed in Leonard's guest room, wondering how he got so lucky to be saved by a guardian angel. Maybe there were good people out there.

Maybe life was worth living after all.

**Author's Note:**

> If you or someone you know is or may be struggling with mental illness, it's important to seek help so you can get treatment that will allow you to live your best life. If you have any questions about my story, or need someone to talk to, you can email me at decoylullaby@gmail.com. If there's anything you think I should add to the tags, please let me know.
> 
> Again, you are loved, and you are worthy of love. Thank you for reading!


End file.
